Absolution
by ShelvesOfYou
Summary: Sam seems to be the only one who is ready to come to terms with the chemistry between Dean and Cas. He struggles with trying to get Dean and Cas to admit how they feel about one another so they can carry on with their mission of closing hell's gates forever. Takes place during the aftermath of 8x17. Sam's POV at first, other POVs later. Spoilers for season 8. Destiel.
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding eye contact with the angel who was gazing at him intently from across the table. The fluorescent lights in the Men of Letters' bunker made Sam's head hurt, but evidently had no effect on Castiel.

"Cas, I thought we talked about the staring contests."

Castiel lowered his head. "I'm sorry. I was trying to gauge your emotional state by observing your body language."

Sam hesitated, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to his question. "Why?"

"I am still confused by human emotions. They are erratic. Your reaction to my…" He paused, searching for the right phrase. "…error in judgment… has been very different from Dean's."

Sam thought about his brother, who had locked himself in his bedroom with a bottle of hard liquor after a heated – well, from his side, anyway– exchange with Cas over his betrayal. There had been a lot of finger pointing and shouting about the tablets, but Sam knew what this was really about. Cas had chosen heaven over Dean, and Dean was not just angry, he was wounded.

"Look, I'm not happy with you either," Sam said honestly, and Cas hung his head. "But Dean and I, we tend to see things a little differently. I think sometimes he forgets how new all of this is for you, and that you have… other priorities."

Cas' head snapped up. "The safety of you and Dean is my top priority. Anything that happened to suggest otherwise was simply a miscalculation on my part. And for that I apologize."

"I know," Sam said, forcing some reassurance into his voice. "It's just that Dean doesn't care about intentions as much as he cares about the outcome. Sometimes an apology just doesn't cut it."

Castiel's forehead seemed to furrow even more as he contemplated this. He looked up after a moment. "Thank you for your help, Sam. I take it as a gesture of friendship."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that Cas meant no harm by that remark, but the third wheel status was starting to irk him. Every time he witnessed interactions between his brother and the angel, he began to feel more and more like a minor character in their trashy romance novel.

Oh yes, Sam knew. He had known Dean all his life. He knew whether or not to break down a door based on the slightest look from him, he knew that the quick slide from carelessness to full-blown depression happened somewhere between beer number three and four, and he knew how he mouthed the lyrics to the songs he played on the car stereo when he thought Sam was asleep. If Dean really thought that his little brother didn't know about his feelings for Cas, he was kidding himself.

Besides, the pure energy that radiated between them was impossible to ignore. Sam used to think that was just a romanticized movie thing, but that was before he found himself in a room with it. After all he had seen in years of hunting, it was maddening that there was something he truly couldn't explain. Sometimes when Dean and Cas spoke, Sam could see their bodies drifting towards each other until one of them broke eye contact. It was like a storm that could never quite get started.

Sam was glad it hadn't. He had plenty of reasons to believe that Cas, good intentions aside, would continue to disappoint Dean in ways that could never be repaired, in ways that echoed the disappointment they felt about their own father. Dean had been neglected and abandoned too many times already. Sam knew it must have torn him apart to be discarded once again, pushed aside for the constant war that was waging around him. But Dean would never let them see his pain, so he locked himself away to drink once again. Sam's heart ached for his brother, who had followed their father's demand for apathy so dutifully that he now had repression down to an art form. Dean was raised to approach emotion as an enemy, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

Sam's train of thought was broken when Castiel suddenly rose from his chair, which made a horrible screeching sound against the floor. "Sorry," Cas said. "I know that cannot have helped your headache."

"My head's fine," Sam lied. The trials were giving him a really special kind of illness, one he could only describe as 'the flu on meth.'

"What can I do to help you feel better?" Cas asked, tilting his head to the side. "I'm not familiar with medical antidotes to human ailments."

"I don't think this is something an aspirin can fix, Cas," Sam replied, giving in and rubbing his temples. "But if you want to be helpful, you can go get Dean some pie." He slid a hand into his pocket, pulled out a crinkled ten, and slid it across the table to where Cas was still standing.

"Pie," Cas repeated, and Sam knew he was confused.

"He might not forgive you today, but it'll get you a few points. It'll be like… a gesture of friendship."

Castiel picked up the bill and put it in his coat pocket, but his expression remained the same. "Before I go, Sam, can I ask one more question?"

Sam shrugged, nodding.

"I think there may be… something wrong with my vessel."

Sam cleared his throat and leaned forward, genuinely concerned. "Why do you think that?"

"There is a burning sensation in my upper digestive tract, and I am finding it hard to concentrate." He paused, as if he was waiting for Sam to diagnose him. "My body feels as though it wants to move, although I have not instructed it to do so."

"Sounds like you're anxious, Cas."

Castiel seemed to consider this. "Anxiety is a human response to impending dangerous circumstances," he said flatly. "But nothing is currently going wrong."

Sam raised his eyebrows. He could think of at least fifteen things that were currently going wrong.

"You appear to be in stable condition," Cas said. "Dean is not in any immediate danger. The chances of us being detected in this building are considerably low. Even if I were to leave to obtain the dessert item you requested, the risk level for me is minimal."

Sam thought about telling Cas he was fine and sending him away, but as usual the look of confusion on the angel's face tugged on his heart. Cursing his abnormally strong empathetic response, he sighed. "Sometimes people get anxious when they're not sure how something's going to turn out."

"Events of the future are constantly— " Cas started to interrupt, but Sam held up a hand and, somewhat surprisingly, he fell silent.

Sam had to choose his words carefully in order to avoid a discussion he was not ready to have. "Dean is… very important to you. You've done something that upset him, and now you're not sure if you'll be able to regain his trust. You're afraid…" Sam trailed off, not sure if he should finish the sentence.

Castiel finished it for him. "Of losing Dean." He looked at the floor. "What do people do when they are anxious?"

"Honestly, sometimes you just have to… do stuff. Go for a run, make something, stuff like that. For you, maybe it would help to go work some miracles. Small ones, though," he added. "Don't attract attention."

Cas nodded. "But first I will purchase the pie."

Before Sam could respond, there was the familiar whooshing sound of wings, and he was alone.

* * *

Sam stood awkwardly outside Dean's bedroom door, listening to the muffled sounds of what he thought was Anthrax blasting from laptop speakers. He took a deep breath and knocked, and allowed himself a moment of panic when there was no response. Dean's constant alcohol abuse paired with his horrific diet and lifelong shortage on sleep was not exactly ideal, even for an otherwise healthy thirty-year-old. An even more disturbing possibility passed through his mind as he pictured his brother with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, finally free from his responsibilities, fear of inadequacy, and internalized homophobia…

Sam opened the door and met eyes with Dean, who was lying upside down over the side of the bed, whiskey bottle in hand.

"Thought maybe if I didn't say anything you would go away," he half-mumbled, half-slurred, reaching across his body to shut off the music that was coming from his computer.

"Dean, I want to talk to you."

He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, well, does this look like a shrink's office to you?"

Sam felt a pang in his chest at the Bobby-esque reply. He shut the bedroom door behind him. "Will you cut the crap? I'm serious."

"Yeah, you know, that's your problem, Sammy. You're too serious." He swung the bottle around for emphasis. "I mean, for all we know, you could be dead tomorrow. And yet _I'm_ the one drinking."

Sam's stomach lurched. It wasn't so much a fear of death (although the prospect was not particularly appealing), it was the thought of leaving Dean alone in this mess. He would be alone with the burden of closing The Gates, but also alone with himself. The latter was what Sam worried would have the most disastrous consequences. He had no doubt that Dean was capable of completing the trials without him, but with no demons to chase and no Sam to protect, his brother would likely lose what little sense of self he had. Sure, Dean had lived for a year without him once before, but during that time he had a stable relationship and appearances to keep up. Since he had Lisa's memory erased he had become even more reckless and hardened than Sam had thought possible. He knew it must be, consciously or not, to cover up the broken and vulnerable parts of himself he couldn't fix.

"If you really think I could die tomorrow, then listen to me." Sam spoke in an especially commanding tone to avoid sounding like he was begging.

Dean sat up and put the bottle down on the nightstand. He appeared to have magically sobered up. Sam wondered briefly if he had been playing up his drunkenness before or if Dean was really ready to have this talk.

"Alright," Dean said, indicating for Sam to sit on the bed beside him. "You might as well be comfortable for your own lecture."

Sam sat down and swallowed hard to kill the cough that was aching to rip through him. Coughing up blood would give Dean an excuse to change the subject. He cleared his throat, ignoring the searing pain in his tonsils. "I'll make this quick," he promised. "I know that what Cas did was pretty unforgivable, but you need to put it aside, at least for now. We have a situation on our hands"– _as usual_, he thought to himself– "and we need to be at the top of our game."

"No, no, no. Cas does not get a free pass on this."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying you need to find a way to be angry and functional at the same time."

Dean looked at him in disbelief. "Dude. I'm _always_ angry. Hell, I got a lot to be angry about. I drink. We hunt. We don't talk about it. That's how this works."

"Well, call it a dying wish, but I need you to talk about it." Sam turned his shoulders to face his brother properly. He was surprised to see that Dean was looking down, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced and supporting the bridge of his nose. This posture was a rare sight and told Sam that Dean was actually considering his request. He thought about saying more, but decided to wait for Dean to process whatever was going on in his head.

"Cas pulled me out of hell," Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I know."

"I think maybe when he did, something… happened to me."

Sam frowned. "Like what?"

Dean hesitated, fidgeting. Sam hadn't seen him like this in a long time. "Well you know, it's like he says, we have a bond."

Sam had a feeling he knew where this was going, but it had to be Dean's decision. So he played dumb. "Yeah, so?"

"I don't know. It just feels worse to me when he pulls shit like this. I guess I feel like I'm supposed to be important to him, you know?" When Sam didn't respond quickly enough, Dean seemed to rethink his words. "Never mind. That's stupid. He has a whole heaven full of angel-douches to worry about."

"It's not stupid, Dean," Sam said. "You _are_ important to him. He's been pacing around for hours trying to figure out how to fix this."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel very important."

Sam continued to have an internal battle over the direction in which this conversation was heading. He really did want Dean to be honest with him, and he really did want to have this discussion at some point. There was just too much on their plate right now to be dealing with a huge, potentially stressful talk. Dean was clearly not at his best, and any tiny miscommunication could drive a wedge between them. But seeing as there was already a severed line between Dean and Cas, Sam thought he would take his chances at helping repair it.

"Dean, Cas is having anxiety problems."

Dean tried to disguise the motion of his head snapping up as a random twitch (although Sam caught it). "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. I think it's just normal anxiety, because you're mad at him."

"You think it's because of _me_?"

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Sam to tolerate Dean's obliviousness. "C'mon, Dean. He adores you. Besides," he added, "he needs you to help him navigate. Without you, he's completely clueless."

"Did you just say he 'adores' me?" Dean said incredulously. "What, like I'm some kind of pet or something?"

"No, Dean. He looks up to you. If anyone's the puppy, he is."

Dean's mouth formed a subtle smirk, an expression he quickly replaced with anger. "He hasn't been very good with the whole loyalty thing, for a puppy. Or coming when he's called."

Sam was thinking of a good way to get the conversation back on track when they both heard the somewhat muffled sound of wings. They looked at each other for a brief moment, then got up and opened the door. They walked the length of the hallway with matching strides, exchanging a concerned look when the sound of wings came again, and this time faded. They reached the main room and were instantly hit with the pleasant smell of baked goods.

The table in the center of the bunker appeared to be completely covered in different varieties of pie, each with a handwritten label underneath. Sam scanned them, and his eyes widened. Key Lime from Chicago, IL. Lemon from Durham, NC. Caramel Apple from Portland, OR. Four Berry from Ann Arbor, MI.

Dean interrupted his reading. "I'm sorry, does that say _Cheddar Bacon Apple_?"

Sam looked to where Dean was pointing and nodded, just as speechless as his brother.

Dean's frown intensified as something else seemed to catch his eye. He slowly moved to the other side of the table, apparently terrified of whatever he was approaching. When Sam saw what it was Dean was looking at, he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing.

"Well," Sam said, grinning. "Like I said, you have an admirer."

Dean picked up the yellow rose and blinked in disbelief.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean seemed to be attempting to say something, but only a low croaking sound came from his open mouth as he turned the rose over between his fingers. He finally looked up at Sam, and managed to lift his empty hand to gesture at the pie-covered table.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said gently, raising his eyebrows in concern. He knew that Dean would have a difficult time accepting the reality of Cas' obvious feelings for him, but he had no idea that it would leave him completely unable to speak, as that was not a typical thing for Dean.

"No, it's not," Dean said, but all the usual forcefulness and certainty was gone from his voice. "What's he playing at?" He cleared his throat and threw his shoulders back as if to jolt the masculinity back into his system. "I mean, does he really think that he can just give me some pie and everything will be fine?"

"Well, he clearly did quite a bit of traveling to get all of this set up…"

"That doesn't count. _He has mojo!_" Dean sounded like a child who had just lost a board game.

"Would it really make any difference to you if he walked?" Sam asked, trying and failing to mask his annoyance.

"Maybe," Dean muttered, and Sam let out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay," Sam said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and throwing himself down into it. "Sit down." He gestured to the chair closest to Dean.

Dean's expression made it very clear that he did not like to be bossed around by his little brother, but he sat down anyway, and set the rose back on the table.

"Do you like Cas?" Sam said bluntly.

Dean's reaction was something similar to what Sam had expected, fabricated shock and indignation so physically dramatic that it made everything that much more obvious. "What? No!"

"Okay, you can lie if you want, but I'm going to pretend that you just said yes." Sam ignored Dean's look of contempt. "I know it's complicated, because he's an angel, but there's nobody in this world more stubborn than you two, so I'm sure you can work something out."

"You're leaving out the part where he's a dude." Dean said this in his usual tone of voice, but something in his eyes had softened into something Sam couldn't quite name. It reminded him of when they were kids, and Dean would lie to him about their dad being back in time for dinner. It wasn't guilt, exactly, but it held the same kind of worry, the same kind of fear of being a disappointment.

"Dean, it's not a big deal if–– "

"I'm not gay, Sam. Jesus."

"I never said you were," Sam said, holding up his hands. "I mean clearly, you like chicks. I don't doubt it."

"So, what, you think I'm one of those–– one of those––"

"Bisexuals? Maybe." Sam shrugged to emphasize his indifference.

Dean's face contorted into something close to disgust. "No, I don't do that, man. I tried that kind of thing before, and it wasn't for me."

Sam frowned. "What kind of thing?"

"You know," Dean said, obviously irritated that he had to elaborate. He lowered his voice, as if there was anyone within hearing distance. "Threesomes."

Sam laughed. "You don't have to like threesomes, Dean. That's not what bisexual means."

"Yeah, and what makes you the expert?" Dean's expression twisted again when he saw the smirk on his brother's face. "You're not…"

Sam chuckled. "No, not me. It was Jess, actually. When she told me, I thought she was asking for a threesome, but I guess that's not a common requirement." Sam tried not to let the sharp pain in his chest come through on his face as he said her name. Sometimes he forgot about how fresh the grief still felt, how the wounds could still rip wide open in a second.

Dean's eyes drifted to the floor, though Sam was unsure if it was due to the subject matter of their overall conversation or his mention of Jess. Neither brother spoke for a moment.

Dean cleared his throat. "So… let's say for a minute, hypothetically, that Cas has a, uh, _thing_ for me. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Sam fought back the urge to reply with innuendo. "You tell him how you feel."

Dean looked at him blankly, waiting for more instructions.

"And since you're apparently not going to tell me, I can't help you with that part," Sam added, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Dean's jaw clenched, his hands in fists by his sides. "Alright," he practically growled. "You're right."

"So you like him," Sam said, partially for clarification and partially to rub it in.

"Yeah, whatever. I like him. Don't be a bitch about it."

Sam bit the inside of his mouth to stifle his oncoming grin into an only slightly more reserved smile.

"Sam, I swear to God, if you keep gloating––"

He was interrupted by the whooshing sound of wings, and Cas appeared next to him. "Hello, Dean." After a moment of prolonged eye contact the angel seemed to notice Sam was in the room. "Hello, Sam. Thank you for the advice. I am feeling much better now."

"That's great, Cas," Sam said awkwardly, unsure if he was supposed to leave the room at this point. His eyes shifted to meet his brother's, who gave him a glare to communicate that he should stay.

"I see you've discovered my gifts," Cas said, turning back to Dean. "I understand that they may not warrant immediate forgiveness, but I hope they illustrate my intentions."

Sam could've sworn he heard Castiel's voice quiver slightly.

Dean gaped at the angel and let out a nervous laugh. "Well you certainly know how to con me."

Cas' brow furrowed. "I assure you that this was not an attempt to deceive you in any way."

Dean sighed. "No, that's not–- I meant you made a good call with the pie, Cas. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Dean."

Dean gave Sam a sideways glance that was probably supposed to be subtle, and Sam knew he was looking for direction. Sam met his brother's eyes and then looked pointedly at the rose, hoping that Dean would take the hint and thank Cas for that as well.

What with Cas' complete lack of ability to respond to social queues, they sometimes forgot that he was still quite observant. He looked back and forth between the two brothers questioningly. "I see you've also noticed my other offering."

Dean looked pale, and if Sam hadn't been legitimately worried that his brother might puke, he would have found it funny. Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, thanks, dude, but guys don't really give each other flowers, you know?"

Cas frowned. "My research indicated that yellow roses signify friendship to humans. I was simply trying to express that sentiment."

Sam, against his better judgment, stepped in. "They do. They do signify friendship." His contribution was met with a dirty look from Dean.

"I do not understand," Cas said. "Why do you find it unacceptable for a male to present another male with a section of an angiosperm organism?"

"Fancy word for flower," Sam explained before Dean could ask.

Dean looked back and forth between the angel and his brother, like if he killed some time, they would forget that Cas had asked him a question. Sam cleared his throat.

"Dean," Cas started.

"Because it's gay!" Dean shouted. The room was eerily silent once his voice stopped reverberating. He looked down, embarrassed by his outburst.

Cas was suddenly very interested in the cement floor, studying the imperfections with his usual stoic expression. But Sam thought he saw the gleam of tears in the angel's eyes.

Sam's entire being seemed to protest his presence in the room, and he felt a rush of adrenaline stronger than the ones he normally felt on hunts. He instinctively glanced at the staircase, planning his escape. This was a conversation that Dean and Cas needed to have alone. Just because Dean had the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old didn't mean that he had to pick up the slack. If Dean was in the middle of a vampire nest, Sam would sure as hell go in after him, but this was something entirely different. He knew he had to stay out of the line of fire, especially if he was going to stay strong enough to complete the trials. He imagined being ripped apart by hellhounds or having a heart attack from all the stress on his body while his brother and his friend argued about their feelings. No, he couldn't ref this one. He had to sit it out. He would let Dean and Cas hash it out alone, and try to be there for each of them during the aftermath. This wasn't going to go well, and although the best-case scenario might involve his brother being truly happy, the worst-case scenario involved pissing off an angel who already had some serious attitude problems.

"I think you two should talk," Sam said, pushing his chair back and standing up. He gripped the table to keep from falling over and hoped that his difficulty standing would go unnoticed for the time being. "I'll be in my room."

Sam walked slowly to the staircase, being careful that his limp would not be visible. He gripped the banister for support and began the painful journey to the second floor, looking back to see Cas still fixated on the floor and Dean holding his head in his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean pulled his hands away from his face after a very long, uncomfortable silence. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and he could feel his pulse in his temple and fingertips. The position of his chair, parallel to the table and facing the place where Castiel was still standing, made it difficult to hide his discomfort. As he folded his arms across his chest, he felt that his shirt was damp from sweat. _This isn't happening. Cas isn't a confrontational kinda guy, not unless he's provoked. He'll teleport outta here, and he won't bring it up. I don't wanna talk about this now. I don't wanna talk about this ever._

Cas seemed to be picking up on Dean's internal monologue, because he tilted his head and did the thing where he squinted his eyes a little. Dean sometimes wondered if Cas had any idea how exaggerated and easy to read his body language was. The squinting thing looked ridiculous, but even Dean had to admit that head tilting was kind of adorable.

_NO. We're not going there. Not now. Focus, man. Speak._

"Cas, buddy, I'm sorry I yelled. Things are just really crazy right now." As Dean spoke, Castiel finally looked up from the floor and met his eyes. He had to stop himself from looking away from the intensity that the angel always managed to convey with his eye contact.

"I understand, Dean," Cas said. "I am sorry for making you uncomfortable." His tone was sincere, but there was still pain and confusion in his expression that made something in Dean's stomach tighten.

"I still shouldn't have yelled at you. This is all… really nice," Dean said, gesturing at the table. His mouth was dry, which made him stumble over his words even more than usual, and he looked down again.

"Dean," Cas said, and it was a statement all in itself. It did not ask for his attention, it demanded it. Dean looked up nervously, and the blood surged through his body, maybe because he was uncomfortable, or maybe for reasons he was much too afraid to consider. "You are a good man. I trust no one's judgment more than yours." Dean scoffed at this, but Cas ignored him. "I look to you for insight into human reasoning, because it is often arbitrary. For instance, I know that I am obligated to say 'no offense' after making such a statement about your species, even though I am certain that you are aware of its validity. This does not make sense to me, but as I am spending time in your company it would seem impolite to disregard it."

He paused as though waiting for a reaction. Dean wasn't sure where this was going, so he could not provide one.

Cas continued. "I have been confused by your behavior recently, and now you have just had another confusing reaction to my apology. I am trying to understand. Why are you ashamed to speak about your attraction to other males?"

Dean choked on air, and tried to pass it off as a normal cough. "I'm not gay, Cas."

Castiel's eyebrows knitted together. "That is not what I said."

"Jesus, not you too. I've already gotten this talk from my brother. I don't need one from my friend."

A smirk appeared on the angel's lips. "So we are friends again." It was a statement, not a question.

Dean readjusted his arms, folding them more tightly across his chest. The lump in his throat continued to grow, and his mouth felt like a forest of cotton balls. Cas was happy to know that they were still friends. Happy enough to smirk. Dean tried to smile, but it was more from nervousness than amusement. "Cas, you're family. You're supposed to piss me off."

"Well, I've certainly done a good job of that," Cas replied, and smiled wider.

Humor? Castiel was just full of surprises today. And that crooked smile was killer, and he just wanted to – _No, we're not doing this. _He looked down, avoiding eye contact at all costs. He couldn't look at that angled jaw and the dark stubble that grew there, couldn't wonder what it would feel like rubbing against his face, his neck, his thigh. _This is wrong. This is so wrong._

"Dean? Are you alright?" Castiel approached the hunter and put his hand on his shoulder.

The touch was so gentle he could barely feel it through his shirtsleeve, but it sent electric currents pulsing through his body. Cas' hand was perfectly aligned with the where his handprint used to be, before it healed. But even now, when Cas touched that spot, it was as if Dean's flesh remembered him, and the skin tingled in a cool burn. It felt like stepping into a warm room after hours in the cold.

Dean willed himself not to look up, but he couldn't resist the pull. He met the unbelievable blue of his angel's eyes– _his_ angel– and his resolve crumbled. "You stupid bastard," Dean mumbled almost inaudibly, and stood up. He could see in Cas' face that he was afraid he was going to storm off, and the hand on his shoulder started to slide away. He reached up to stop it, covering Cas' hand with his own. He looked down at their hands, studying the subtle difference in their skin tones and feeling the contrast between the smoothness of Cas' hands and his own callous-riddled palms. He closed his fingers around Cas' hand and pulled it down to their sides, threading their fingers together. Cas' eyes widened, his pupils dilated. Dean licked his lips.

He moved in slowly, dipping his head and pressing their lips together. It was chaste at first, but soon his right hand was cupped around Castiel's neck, pulling him closer, and their lips moved with more insistence. When they finally pulled apart, they were both panting.

Dean was surprised to find that he didn't feel guilty. At least, not for the kiss. Only for waiting so long to give in. He had enough to worry about without spending every waking moment trying to force himself back into denial. He knew how he felt about Castiel, and he had for a long time, but knowing something and coming to terms with it were two very different things.

"I'm confusing you even more, aren't I?"

"I, uh…" Cas began. Dean had to admit, it was hugely satisfying to see an Angel of the Lord trip on his words like that. "You have given me mixed signals, yes."

"I've had mixed feelings."

"Because you are uncomfortable with my gender?"

"That's only part of it, Cas. You're an _angel_."

To Dean's surprise, Castiel chuckled. "You're not concerned about corrupting me, are you?"

"Your dad's not too big on the whole gay thing, Cas."

"He was misquoted. Besides, have I not made it clear where my loyalties lie? I have been rebelling against heaven for you for years. This is no different."

Dean's eyes were dangerously close to watering, and he blinked repeatedly. "So whatever this is… I'm not alone in it?"

Castiel extended his arm slowly and reached for Dean's face. He paused, tilting his head to ask for permission, and Dean nodded. His fingers rubbed along Dean's jaw, moving his thumb in soothing circles until he reached the back of his head. Dean closed his eyes. Cas pulled him forward and down slightly so that their foreheads were touching.

Dean couldn't help but gasp as light exploded behind his eyelids, and his system was flooded with every sensation he had ever known and several he couldn't even begin to name. He saw himself being pulled from his chains in the pit, carried in Castiel's arms. He saw himself and his brother passed out on motel beds, Cas watching from by the window. He saw himself in purgatory fighting off a vamp, and felt a surge of terror he knew did not belong to him. What seemed like hundreds of memories erupted into his mind, and through all of them he felt a commonality, a feeling of almost violent protectiveness paired with unconditional affection.

When Cas pulled his forehead away, Dean was jolted back into reality, and his face was streaked with tears that he didn't realize he had been crying. Embarrassment washed over him, but he was still too stunned to move. Cas wiped his tears away gently and hushed him. "I'm sorry if that was overwhelming. I just wanted to answer your question as directly as possible."

Dean tried to clear his throat, but a choked sob overtook him instead. Somewhere inside he felt humiliated, but that was nothing compared to everything else he was feeling.

"I'm sorry," Castiel repeated, and his usual gravelly voice broke. He seemed to think Dean was in pain, so Dean shook his head and took the angel's hand, holding it to his chest. Their fingers lined up, and he pressed Cas' palm over his heart. He wasn't good with words, but he hoped this would be easy enough to understand.

Castiel's expression melted into a mix of relief and euphoria, and Dean heard the sound of wings. For just an instant he thought Cas was gone, but soon he realized that he had just teleported them to Dean's bedroom. Dean was lying on his side on the bed, and Cas was sitting next to him.

For most of his life, Dean had not known the feeling of safety. Every waking moment was laced with anxiety, and even when he slept he would jerk wake at the slightest sound or movement, ready to fight. Safety was an illusion, one that he and his brother worked to uphold for everyone else. He couldn't count the number of times he had told someone, _It's okay, you're safe now_, but he didn't even know what _safe_ meant. It was just an abstraction, a promise he always made and risked his life to keep. _We'll keep you safe. We'll keep your family safe. _But Dean Winchester didn't know _safe_, he only knew sleeping with a 9 mm pistol under his pillow. He only knew flying under the radar and assuming that everyone is a liar.

But now Dean understood safe. His brief look into Castiel's mind showed him that he was protected, guarded with such ferocity and intensity that he felt it in his bones.

Dean's sobs faded, becoming erratic breaths punctuated by whimpers that would have mortified him had he been in his right mind. The angel said nothing for a long time. Finally, when Dean's breathing returned to normal, Cas whispered, "Sleep. I'll watch over you." He wiped the remaining tears from Dean's face with the back of his right hand.

The other was still splayed out over Dean's heart.


End file.
